The Language of Dean
by My Broken Quill
Summary: Abi wondered if she’d ever forget the weight of him there - the tangible weight of love. If ten years from now she’d be wondering around still able to feel him breathing onto her collarbone. Dean/OFC
1. That Tangible Weight

_This was in the works for a long, LONG, time but thankgod i've finally found the will to get it up on here. It's an OC story, which is never popular but frankly i hated all the women that sauntered into the Supernatural world. apart from Ava - she had depth and wasn't the same as every other woman they tried to hook up with the boys. you know, tough as nails, can hold her own, swears, drinks, fights, quips back sassily and all in skin tight clothes and killer heels. please, no wonder our boys are still single. but anyway i hope you like my OC and if you dnt plz share and i'll see if there is any tweaking needed._

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**That Tangible Weight**

She had nightmares of his death for weeks before it actually happened - not because she was suddenly psychic like Sam, but because she'd overheard them talking about it one night when they thought she'd been asleep in a half a star kind of motel in Ohio.

She'd wanted to scream at him then, to rage, and cry, and hit him … beg him to stay with her or at least take her with him because she knew she couldn't live without him. But when she saw him she pretended like she hadn't heard a thing, pretended like her heart hadn't started thumping like it was counting down each second till it would break. _Thump, thump, thump._

Because _he _was pretending too and if Dean Winchester was desperate enough to do that, then things must be bad, really bad. So she decided to give him what he wanted, what he seemed to need, and pretended that everything was okay.

… Pretended they had forever.

"What's the matter?" he slurred, pretending to rub sleep out of his eyes even though Abi knew he had been watching her pretend to sleep the whole night.

She gulped down air and tried to conceal the shivers that was racing up and down her spine. The day before he'd been strangled, yesterday he'd been beheaded, today he'd been hacked up. His beautiful golden skin marred by deep grooves that had filled hungrily with rivers of blood that should have stayed inside.

The thing is she hasn't actually slept at all in the last four days.

But the dreams just keep on coming, forcing themselves into her head even while she's wide awake, even while she's staring at Dean and trying to memorise every word he's saying. Just in case-

"Nothing," she tells him, fixing a smile on her face for his benefit even though her heart has almost finished counting and each thump now hurts like a kick in the ribs.

_Thump, thump, thump_, it warns. You don't have long left, she translates.

"Bad dream?" he asks, edging into dangerous territory. She wonders what he'd do if she tells him exactly what she'd been dreaming about, exactly what she'd overheard.

But she can't bring herself too. Doesn't dare. Let him have his pretend. That's all she can give him anyway.

She shakes her head and leans upwards to kiss the slight cleft in his chin. How many times had she done that anyway? "Good dream," she lies and doesn't regret doing so when Dean's handsome face breaks into a heartthrob grin designed to make her pulse leap.

She leant up in (_thump, thump, thump) _satisfaction to kiss his chin again.

"About me?" he asks, brows waggling indecently.

She smiles up at him then wonders what kind of couple they'd have morphed into if they'd had more time. Maybe they'd have been one of those couples who can finish each others sentences, or ones that only had sex on weekends. Although knowing her and Dean they would have probably ended up in front of Jerry Springer being held apart by the guards.

"No, Hugh Jackman actually." He laughs and Abi squirreled away that memory, hoarding it away to be played, re-winded, paused and re-played for the rest of her life. How ever short it was after tomorrow. When his lips creased into a sad smile like he had heard the conversation they were really having Abi felt her eyes sting and burn. She wasn't as strong as him, never had been. Dean had always been able to act like everything would be okay, he was the kind of guy who could grin at Death and tell it a dirty joke.

She needed some of that courage now.

When he burrowed his head into the crook of her neck, searching for _his _spot, Abi wondered if she'd ever forget the weight of him there - the tangible weight of love. If ten years from now she'd be wondering around still able to feel him breathing onto her collarbone, if forty years from now she'd still complain about the push of his nose into the side of her throat. If she's going to die seventy years from now because he'd weighed her down with love and left her unable to breathe without him.

_Thump, thump, thump._

She couldn't do this. She gave in and cried silently into his hair, her arms reaching out to hold him tighter to her - this tangible weight of Dean - but was surprised when she felt wetness seep into the skin of her neck.

Dean Winchester was _crying_.

And now she realised she loved him even more then she ever had before, which couldn't be possible because she'd reached the limit along while back, but there it was … she'd spilled over.

X

Sam wouldn't meet her eyes, his face was pale, his eyes bloodshot. If she stepped closer she knew she'd smell sweat and vomit on him. And if she stepped even closer she'd probably smell tears too.

"Well!" chirped Dean perkily.

Abi's mouth wobbled, her eyes roamed over him, taking inventory of him just in case, words she'd come to rely on for years to come. Blue jeans: faded badly at the right knee, frayed slightly at the left pocket. Grey t-shirt, the one she'd accidentally stretched out and now wouldn't hug him as provocatively as he wished, something he'd complained bitterly about. A dingy green shirt over it, unbuttoned, one button missing at the bottom. Sam's chain around his neck. His hair, a little longer then he usually kept it, so a darker brown then usual, like it always got when it lengthened. Black socks. Brown leather boots. Black boxers. John's leather jacket. A light, golden stubble on his face.

"I'm off!" he continued. _Thump, thump, thump._

Her voice is small, sounding as young and as scared as she feels inside. She can't pretend anymore. "When will you be back?"

She wonders if this is how the countless women before her who had lost their lovers, who had wished them goodbye knowing they might not return, had felt. If they had felt like someone was squeezing their heart into something smaller, so that when it did break, it would take less time and kill them faster. So that they could join them quicker.

She could have taken some relief in that, in the fact that millions of women before her had been in her place, maybe kissing goodbye their soldier before he went to join the war effort or Calpurnia telling Caesar to stay home this once. But all that popped into her head was surprise at the fact that there were any women left on Earth at all_? _A suicidal bunch really, the lot of 'em.

He blinks, his lips pull downwards, his eyes beg her to keep pretending.

She does.

She puts a silly smile on her face and ignores the _thump, thump, thump _of her heart, screaming its last few beats.

"I'll be back when I'm back woman, Jesus, we're not even married yet." His smile is just as silly, just as pretend but Abi sees the way his lips slip on the word 'married.' Knows that like her he's picturing a sea of children they'd never have, smiling up at them like broken promises. Wrinkles they'd never see on each other, the face they'd never see again after today, a body they'd never curve around.

A life they'd never live.

She visibly sees something die in him - just extinguish in his hazel eyes, and her insides wail in response. He cups her face preciously and the look in his eyes is one of sheer amazement, as if he couldn't believe that he'd had a chance to love her, and be loved back in return.

"Abi …" and she knows by his tone that he isn't pretending now. "Abigail Winchester." Abi inhales sharply and sees her dream life with him flash before her eyes. Then realises it was the years she'd already lived that she'd seen, and _by god _hadn't they been just perfect?

"Dean," she whispers back, she knows to others it'll sound like a waste of words but she has just agreed to become his wife. In fact, as of the last few seconds they've been happily married.

His hazel eyes soften to liquid, he'd heard the secret 'I do' like she'd known he would. He pretends to slide an imaginary ring on her finger, "this way you won't lose it," he teases, though his finger wraps tightly around hers, as if he wishes he could leave something behind for her to see. Something for her to pull out and look at over the years and remember him by, even after the years have stolen his scent from his car and her memory of the exact angles of his face. Then she'll hold it in her hand and say 'he gave me that, Dean did,' and that memory, as sharp as glass now, would dust the years of her face until she was young again, singing along to Black Sabbath with him and Rat while Sam groaned and told them that he wished he could reach his ear drums with his pocket knife.

Abi tugged him to her, kissing him for as long as possible until she had to reluctantly pull away to let him breathe, trying to get all the kisses she would ever need before he died. He held her tightly, his arms a solid band that hurt so good - and god, she hoped it left bruises, and kissed her with his eyes wide open.

In the tomorrows to come she'll wonder if he tasted like death, ashy and bitter, something clichéd like that. But for now she knew he tasted like toothpaste, black coffee and the Missy's Dinner's Extra Large Breakfast Sub. With extra gherkins.

When he pried her off him and marched to the car with a stiff back Abi knew he was forcing himself not to turn around, but she knew he was watching her in the side view mirrors anyway so she stilled her shaking and blinked furiously to keep the tears at bay. The car roared to life, Rat came over to lean against her leg, Sam's eyes glittered as he stared at her, his mouth pursed together like a steel trap to make sure he didn't make promises he knew he couldn't keep.

Abi remembered all the times when her life had revolved around Sam's crooning hugs and dimpled smiles. The times when he had promised her that she could travel with them, promised her that he'd look after her and a hundred other promises he'd always kept.

She wondered when the magic had run out.

When they drove away fast, jerking the band aid off quickly to get it over with, she fell to the ground in shock, ignoring Rat's worried snuffling as she watched the Impala disappear.

_Thump, thump, thump._

_X_

She couldn't remember what she'd done in-between, though she hadn't sat on the parking lot floor because when she came to she was inside their Motel room, staring at the empty screen of the T.V. Bobby was knocking.

_Thump, thump, thump._

He said something, she can't remember what but she followed him mutely to a place in the woods somewhere.

Sam was there.

A hole in the ground was there.

Dean was there.

X

Neither Bobby nor Sam would forget the way she screamed. Bobby would remember it every now and then on lonely nights and remind himself that that was why he never remarried. Never let himself even love again. Because Hunters' die and this is what they'd leave behind. Girls who screamed like something was eating them up from the inside, girls who looked like they'd never smile again, even though once upon a time Life had promised to give them laugh lines as deep as the grooves on Dean's flesh.

For Sam it would be a never ending echo, like a broken gramophone, he'd hear it and remember the girl she'd once been, following him around like a stray puppy, and because Dean and Abi were one and the same he'd remember his brother too. Then he'd reach for the bottle and try to deafen the echo for a while. Not for too long though, because he deserved it after all.

They watched while she cradled Dean's head, stroking his hair and working out bits of dried blood. They watched as she ran her hands over his mutilated corpse, moaning like she could feel each tear on her own body. They watched while she shook him and screamed his name.

Orpheus calling for Eurydice.

When Sam buried him he did it feet first and as slowly as possible, waiting for a miracle to hit them, for God to give them one damn Get Out of Jail Free Card. But when his brother was six feet deep and his brother's wife was a limp, vacant body in his arms Sam felt his tenacious belief in God slip out of his grasp.

He only had room for Abi now.

X

It was all just a blur to her really, every now and then she'd resurface to find herself on another Motel bed with Rat whining and pushing a packet of something or other into her hands or see Sam either drink himself to an early grave or work through the night like a man with a deadline.

Then the haze cleared and she woke up to scratchy sheets and an empty room. Rat jumped to his feet, his ears perked and immediately started scrounging through cupboards for food for her, came back with a tuna and sweet corn sandwich.

Dean hated tuna. Said they were most definitely not the chicken of the sea, no matter what Jessica Simpson said.

She smiled down at him and shook her head, leant down to scratch what was left of his ears and searched the room for money. Found some on the counter, left by Sam just in case, and stumbled to the drug store with Rat's guidance.

She's amazed at how cheap it is for you to kill yourself.

She doesn't know why she picks up the Pregnancy Test Kit along with the tablets, but now that she has it in her hands, now that she in the Motel bathroom willing herself to have enough pee, she knows she needs it.

She knows the answer even before the stick does - had known as soon as she'd seen the stack of boxes in the store.

Dean's going to be a father.

X

Sam almost busts down the door in his haste to get to her when he hears her crying, his face pales at the scattered pills and pales even more at the positive pregnancy test clutched in her hand.

"It's not fair," she sobs and they silently remember how much Dean had wanted a family.

"No, it's not," Sam chokes out angrily.

They sat there for a long time, Dean in-between them. Then got up simultaneously and headed to their beds, to waste away the night with do-you-remembers they'll never voice.

Once upon a time, before this, Sam and Abi had been able to talk about anything, she'd talk for hours to him about mundane subjects such as how her hair is actually red gold really, not ginger. Now they hardly know how to start a conversation. Abi wonders if Dean had been their language, if without him they'll both just lapse into silence.

X

She wakes again to an empty room, Rat guarding the door, and a phone call from Bobby, he said that Sam was going to find a way to bring Dean back, that Sam wouldn't come back until he did. Abi said 'yes' and 'hmm' and 'oh' in the appropriate places then said goodbye. Sam had left her money, a tidy stack of bills that would keep her afloat for a good while.

He'd also left her the Impala.

He wasn't coming back. She wondered if maybe she was psychic after all or if she was only so certain because he was a Winchester.

"Bye," she whispered to the Motel room, imagining it to be the first Motel she'd stayed in with the Winchester brothers, or the one she'd confessed to Dean about her one sided crush on Sam, or the one where Dean had leant down and kissed her breathless, his eyes filled with uncertainty and desperation, mouth filling with I-love-yous. Or the last one she'd been in with him.

They'd made their home in whatever room they'd rented, whatever house they'd broken into. Because Home Sweet Home wasn't four walls and good furniture, but the people in it. So what happened when all those people were gone?

Abi rubbed her flat stomach, "I'll start again - with you."

X

She picked Lawrence because it felt like a beginning, their beginning. She liked to imagine that her boy - yes boy - would grow up to be a little like them just because he was born here. Even if it was just an affinity for denim and a slight gruffness to his accent. It couldn't hurt to make him as much of a Winchester as she could anyway.

She rented a crappy apartment above a Pizza place that made everything she owned smell of cheese and pepperoni and got a weekend job in a bakery that she'd have to quit as soon as she gets anywhere close to big. She's not taking chances with this baby. During her days off she scours the town for pills and ointments, buys anything that promised to make her baby stronger, healthier, smarter. In her pepperoni and cheese apartment she's got a Rat high stack of baby books and birthing videos, they explained what would happen to her over the months and what to expect when the time comes. Her first birthing video left her so scared that Rat had hidden the videos and wouldn't show her where they were.

Seven months in she got a phone call, she thought it was Bobby's weekly calls to check up on her but finds herself instead saying hello to a drunk Sam.

"Don't you care?" Sam slurred, his voice maybe hoarse from the whiskey. Maybe not. "Don't you care that he's gone?" For Sam grief has always been something that is continuous, a never ending cycle.

If he isn't grieving he's feeling guilty that he isn't

Abi stills and wonders when she'd grown up, a few months ago she'd thought Justin Timberlake was dreamy and cried herself blind when Buffy had had to kill Angel, now these words, aimed to cut - and cut deep - barely grazed her. She palms a hand over her large stomach and listens to Rat as he jerks her softly towards the sofa, urging her to sit down.

"When did he ever leave?"

Sam shudders at that and then starts crying, angry choked gasps. She's never been able to stand to see Sam cry, he's always cried like the world was ending. "Remember when you and Dean had to pose as vets at that farm? And Dean made you be the one that had to put your hand up a cow." Sam went silent. "Sam?" she begs, she doesn't have a lot of people to talk about Dean to, Bobby thinks it's better if she puts it all behind her and moves on, and her baby doesn't talk back and has never met his father. Will never meet him.

The line crackled emptily for a few seconds and then Sam exhaled, "remember when that guy in the bar in California hit on him?"

Abi grinned, remembering Dean's shocked outrage that he had appeared anything but straight and how he had asked her and Sam if they really thought that maybe it looked like he was being butch to overcompensate. She pressed the loudspeaker on the phone and spoke for three straight hours, with Rat curled up at her feet keeping her chilly toes warm from the cold linoleum floor. They weren't even remembered out yet but their voices had gone hoarse from talking, "Sam?" she asked and Sam once again saw the teenager on the side of the road, dressed in yellow with her ginger hair in a high ponytail.

"Yeah?" he asked. Only with her had he ever got to play big brother, a role he had relished, one that he'd been amazed to find himself good at. But he'd had a big brother too, one that had been determined to save his life, except, because of that, Sam had been unable to play big brother and save hers.

"I love you Sammy." Goodbye in other words.

"Remember when Dean said that only he was allowed to call me Sammy and you asked him if he had a copyright on that name?" Goodbye back. "… I love you too Abi … I - I'm sorry -" Sorry that Dean died for him, sorry that without Dean her and her unborn baby would wither away, live half lives with Dean always looming over them. A phantom limb. Dean was like that, things tended to decay without him. Just look at Sam.

Abi's breath hitched and Sam felt panic bubble up his throat. He thought he'd been ready for her to hate him, to blame him, but now he knew he wouldn't be strong enough to be still standing afterwards. "I'm going to name him Luke Samuel Winchester, well not Winchester - just in case someone comes looking - but he'll be one inside."

This was what forgiveness felt like.

"… Yeah … a Winchester - I … Abi, th - thank you." The words stuck in his throat, choking him. He slugged down another gulp of whiskey, felt the burn. Savoured it. "I … Abi I have to go now." Sam wondered what his nephew would look like, hopefully like Dean, it would do her some good if the kid took after him. Would maybe lessen the loss. Keep the memories alive a little stronger.

"Okay," she replied, sounding beyond resigned. "… Bye Sammy …"

With a drunken hiccup Sam rethought his hope and prayed to whatever was listening that the kid would take after Abi. Abi who was strong, or weak, or whatever enough to live on after the person she had loved had died. Abi who wasn't chasing ghosts and dead ends and another bottle of hard, cheap liquor.

Winchesters had never known how to love normally, they always loved so much that it killed them.

God he hoped his nephew took after Abi. Let her have years - decades - with one Winchester at least.

Sam closed his eyes and remembered a girl in yellow, with a smile so wide she'd had enough to share, which she had. Then he remembered her calling Dean, shaking him like she was listening for a rattle, trying to find out where he had broken. He tried to hold onto the smiling girl but all his eyes did was fill up with screams. Dean's and Abi's. "… Bye Abi …" He put the phone down shakily and reached with a surer hand for another bottle of whiskey, there were echoes swarming around him again, this time a little boy's voice was asking where his father was. Was asking how come uncle Sam was alive when his dad wasn't. Was asking what was so special about him that his father had to go die for him, leaving him fatherless. Alone. Sam groaned and gave in, he gulped down the raw whiskey like a thirsty man and savoured its familiar burn.

Abi turned the loudspeaker off and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. "That was your uncle Sammy," she told her stomach, petting it softly.

X

The next day she went and bought every newspaper she could get her hands on and taped every news segment that came on TV. There he was - wanted criminal and fugitive from justice who had been thought to be deceased had been found murdered.

Her Sam. Dean's brother. His whole life reduced to a couple of lines squashed between a segment about Salsa dancing senior citizens and a rise in petrol prices due to the recession.

Abi tightened her grip on the newspaper until it was a scrunched up mess. "It's just you and me now Luke."

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_Whew ... there, it's out - well the first chapter anyway, two more chapters left. Oh and if any of you felt like there must have been something before this it's because there IS, i'm actually working on a fic of how Abi and the boys hooked up but can't find the time to write it cause of that annoying mistress called Lyfe. But this i already had up so i thought i might as well put it up and see if you liked Abi - no point in continuing with an OC that doesn't work is there._

_Oh and i know i didn't go into it - but will in the fic mentioned above - but Rat is a bull terrier. no more on him for now._

_Chow XXX_


	2. Of Heroes

_Second part, yes it is very short but I couldn't justify making it any longer without stuffing in things that it didn't need. Hopefully it feels as if it doesn't need anymore. One more part to go and this story is wrapped up. _

_Remember love + reviews = :D_

_lol_

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**Of Heroes**

"Your dad was a hero," she whispers to the wriggling softness in her arms. "So was your uncle, and your grandparents and your great-grand parents." The baby - her son - mewls and croaks out a cry, Abi rocked him softly, trying to find a rhythm and breathed in his newborn scent before time would steal that away from her. Time was a bitch. "You come from a long line of heroes Luke, don't you ever forget that - no matter what."

She knew it was too much to ask though, he'd want to know who is dad was and she'd tell him: Dean Winchester. He'd want to know what kind of man he was and she'd tell him that too: arrogant, conceited, thought he was god's gift to woman kind … giving to a fault, brave beyond reason, charming as sin, hero, hero, hero …

She'd manage on that for a while but then he'd want to know how his dad had died … should she tell him about the demons then? He might be in high school, still young but old enough to understand death, he'd tell his friends since he'd still be too young to understand that some things have to be kept to yourself, and they'd laugh at him. They'd tell him that there are no such things as demons, or hunters, they'd tell him that his mother was lying, that she was an escaped loony who probably got knocked up by they guy she buys drugs from. He'd come home, having fought with his friends, fingers still wrapped around a suspension notice, eyes accusing her but still unsure, after all she was still his mother and at that age he would still think that mother's can't lie.

He might leave it at that, for a few years at least, but it would grate at him like an unpeeled scab every time someone asked where his dad was or why his mum lived alone. 'Divorced?' they would ask him, like that was the worst thing in the world. 'Or … is he - dead?' some might venture. Still worse things then being dead … things like being stuck in hell for the rest of eternity at the mercy of those that you put there in the first place.

Or knowing that the man you love - the man you will love forever with the same kind of intensity as you did when he was alive and kissing you back - is being tortured … and you can do _nothing _about it.

But then again he comes from good stock, even when he's nothing more then a pink blob with not much personality and no other demands then being fed and cleaned she knows what kind of man he'll grow up to be. Dean may not have been book smart, but Sammy sure was, and eventually he'll go digging, searching for answers in files and records, as if hoping to make sense of Dean out of a bunch of papers and a computer screen. As if that was even possible. Dean was so much more … too much more. Un-containable to such a degree that they'd had to threaten him with Sammy to kill him.

Luke wouldn't think that though, he'd see the arrests, the murders, the charges that trailed a mile long and read like a script from a slasher movie and he'd be angry. 'Liar!' he'd scream at her, judging her and finding her lacking. Judging Dean, changing hero to sick, twisted fuck who liked to hurt people and got off on it.

He'd hate her and he'd leave, swearing that he was never coming back and when people ask him about his family it would be him that lies, not her. 'They're dead,' he'd tell them stiffly, his face tight like Dean's when he wanted you to drop the subject. His mother had a heart attack and his father died young - car accident. And if she was still alive then surely hearing talk like that would kill her anyway. Dean Winchester? A car accident? As if he'd be so lucky.

As if she would.

What she wouldn't have given to have had him die normally. To be uncertain whether the smug arse was living it up in heaven or being punished for all that sex before marriage, not to mention those incidents where he had pretended to be a priest.

What she wouldn't give …

He'd grow up handsome - with such genes on his father's side it was highly unlikely he'd be anything but, even with hers muddying him up. He'd meet a woman eventually - after imitating his father for a couple of years and collecting a couple of hundred notches on his bedpost - and being a Winchester he'd fall hard for her. Like Dean had fallen for her, so hard that even if a million years went by people would still be able to see his imprint on her without a microscope. Marking her more thoroughly than a fake marriage certificate and a cheap silver ring would ever be able to. Such a deep imprint that when other men - good men - smile at her and promise her the world, she'd wonder bemusedly why they can't see Dean's name all over her, scoring her so harshly that she is ruined and _no one _else would do.

He'd have children, hopefully lots of them, but Luke wouldn't raise them as Winchesters, he'd continue to live a lie, stubborn to the end like his uncle Sammy, and tell them that their grandparents were dead. He won't tell them about how brave their granddad was, how many lives he'd saved at the risk of his own, how he'd _dreamed and dreamed _of living to be old enough to have children … or how he would have been _delirious _to have been around to see his grandchildren. How if he had lived he would have been the coolest grandpa ever, letting them listen to Black Sabbath, teaching them how to pick locks and tutoring them on how to seduce the opposite sex

So those kids - Winchester kids - would grow up as someone else, as strangers. And soon, John; who had loved his wife too much to live, Mary; the kind of mother Abi dreamed of being - _would _be if it ever came down to it, Sammy; a man who could have had it all: a good job, a good woman, friends, family … But left it all because he wanted to be there for his brother ... And Dean; the best man she had ever known - would ever know - all these people, _these heroes_, would be … forgotten. Like they had never existed. Like they hadn't come kicking and screaming into the world and gone kicking and screaming out of it.

Like they hadn't loved and lived so fiercely that the world felt empty without them - _darker_.

Abi's tears dripped on the blinking face of her newborn son, he had a thick thatch of silky ginger hair that would have had Dean screaming at her for the rest of her life. _His _son - _Dean Winchester's_ son … with _ginger _hair? Blasphemy!

But he also had hazel eyes, big ones with long curly lashes like Dean's - cherub eyes she used to call them when she was in a good mood. Heifer eyes she would snipe when she wasn't.

… She should have known better, after all, she knew more than anyone that a Winchester _never _does what you expect them to do, not even when you order them to. They're annoying that way. But what is certain is that a Winchester will always surprise you, so maybe she should give this baby a chance to surprise her.

No matter what the surprise is.

Abi smiled down at her boy, her hopes and dreams for him lighting up her tired eyes, a story of the old days on the tip of her tongue, her shaky fingers straightening the protection amulet around his thin neck. "Your father's name was Dean Winchester … and he - he was a hero …"


End file.
